


The Five Stages Of Grief

by PastelWonder



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:11:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers knowing himself, what sort of man he is. Was. Darker, and definable.</p><p>Before he fucked his Slayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Stages Of Grief

Denial

October 21, 2004

Bath, England

 

When he opens the door and it's her - wide, uncertain eyes and a self-doubting smile that's more like a grimace - he's quite certain he's dying, by the way his vision whitens and tunnels and he can't breathe.

The sunlight swims too bright around him, so warm it hurts her eyes. His hair is shot with white and the wrinkles that crisscross his too-thin face are deeper, but it's still _Giles_.

Hysteria (fingers twist and bruise purple) tears the edges of longing sharp and jagged. Darkness rushes over her until she can't see the light again and it really is like drowning.

Then he says her name, so softly. 

"Buffy?" 

His voice is shaking; he's afraid she hasn't heard him. She's looking straight through him, and he wonders bitterly if somewhere on the other side of him she can see the man she came for.

He starts to call her name again, but she shifts. She isn't where she was, but wrapped around him.

He's suddenly unsure; it's all so much like his dreams. Certainly, he smells her overly-sweet shampoo and hears the tell-tale _pop_ in his spine when she squeezes too tight, but he knows he's already half-mad and doesn't put it past himself anymore.

His heart presses out of his chest and his lungs burn.

When she pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, and he knows she sees him and him only, something tells him it's a dream he won't wake from.

_Oh, fuck it all,_ he thinks, relieved his death is sweet, at least.

 

Anger

October 30, 2004

Bath, England

  

Almost sunset, and he can see her animal waking, shifting just beneath the surface of her skin.

The slayer.

She'll leave soon to roam the night.

She was his once, to follow into the dark. Now he's sick with the emptiness, rib-less and hollow. Sometimes he thinks he'll choke on his rage. 

She feels the fragmented bond between them, like glass too filmed over with grime and soot to see through. She likes to press against it when she thinks he isn't looking.

"I'm going for a walk." The front door's already open, her hand braced against the doorjamb.  

He reaches for her without thinking. As she recoils further into the doorway, it burns.  

"Giles-"

"Why are you here?" His hands are shaking, but he has to know what she wants from him. And so does she.

His face, younger and unknowing, crackles in her mind.

"Do you want me to go?" Her voice trembles. Poker isn't her game.

It isn't his either (the house always wins). 

He sighs. "Stay as long as you like."

"Hey, Giles?"

He doesn't want to turn, not really, but he's nothing if not obedient.

He doesn't really _need_ his dignity, surely.

"Yes?"

She's already second-guessing herself, but he's waiting patiently and she owes him that much. Besides, the nights are getting darker.

"Wanna walk with me?" Her hand stretches out to him, fingers wiggling.

"Yes. Yes, of course." If she'd asked for a torch, he'd have set himself on fire.

 

Bargaining

November 14, 2004

London, England

 

_First by breath. Always by breath._ Just like he taught her.

"Concentrate. Find the center." He sounds so certain, and right now she just wants to believe him.

But it's dark; the panic presses against her, squeezing too tight and then stretching wide. She's not even sure they can still do this.

"Giles-"

"Breathe."

She does.

_Two bodies, one breath._ It feels like a lifetime ago. For her, she realizes, it was.

She rolls her shoulders back, shakes out her hands. _Like riding a bike._

She feels herself start to shift and spread, reaching outward until his breath pushes back. Suddenly, it's all familiar, even if the longing is sharper than she remembers.

"Let it all fall away."

Suddenly, she feels it, like the first drop of rain. Light ripples from the center and the black is graying and he's _there_.

Her delighted laugh leaves him a little breathless.

"That's it - now, come to me."

She doesn't know if she's getting closer, or if he's moving nearer. It doesn't even matter.

"Tag." It's not until the blindfold's off that she notices her eyes are wet. So are his.

"Indeed. Well done." His voice is hushed and a little hoarse, but his praise is always like gold, and she offers him a sunny smile.

"Buffy, I-"

"That was totally wicked!"

They turn together, startled, and he's smug to see the thirty-or-so amazed faces of young Slayers and their Watchers, even if he is a little embarrassed. More than a little.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Kristine. Very well, then. You lot pair up and practice."

"Yah, guys, start with your breathing: two bodies, one breath."

He doesn't know if it's that she remembers, after all these years, or if it's her hand still on his chest, over his heart, but he feels years younger.

 

Depression

December 1, 2004

Bath, England

 

When she sees him settled into the sofa, book propped against the armrest and glasses on the tip of his nose, she's already made up her mind.

He squints to see her in the low light. There's something too familiar in the way she won't meet his eyes; he can't quite put a finger on it, but his gut is squeezing tight. 

"Buffy?"

She settles next to him - legs tucked under tight - so close he can see himself in her eyes, and then it's his heart that clenches.  

"Buffy, what on Earth is the matter?"

Her stomach dips low as she reaches for him. It doesn't help that he jerks a little; she's already losing her nerve. But she's never been good at being alone, and they both know it's been a long time coming.

Her lips touch his and he holds very still, until her hands twine in his hair and tug, and his world tilts as she presses into him, taking more.

When he feels her tongue, he's sure he'll go completely mad.

Something pushes upward from within, and he refuses to name it, because names have power, and he's had about as much powerlessness as he can take.

"Buffy, really! This is entirely inappropriate."

"There's nobody else."

It isn't everything, and he knows it, but he smiles a self-depreciating smile none-the-less. Self pity is something he understands.

This isn't.

"Flattered, I'm sure."

He feels her palm on his cheek, sees her eyes glitter in the light, and he knows.

Oh, he knows.

"Buffy, please. Don't ask this of me."

"Love me."

She's good and damned him then, and he half doesn't care.

"I do, dearest. I have. Ever so much." He knows it's not the same the same thing, but as he says the words, he means it.

"Show me."

He commits her to memory then, so later he can lie awake and replay this over and over again, until it yellows and fades. His favorite mistake.

"Lie down."

 

Acceptance

January 2, 2005

Bath, England

 

He remembers knowing himself, what sort of man he is. Was. Darker, and definable.

Before he fucked his Slayer. 

"So, then. Plans for the new year?"

He's breaking the rules, and he knows it, but the words are sliding out before he can catch them. It's not his fault - here, with her, is too bright sometimes, and the colors blur together. Blinding.

Like now, for instance.

Her muscles pull taunt over bone and soul too fragile to withstand the darkness; she knows that somewhere it is colder than she can bear.

Not here, with him.

"Oh, I don't know. Nowhere I really wanna go." She hopes she isn't shouting.

"Will you stay here, then? At least - for a while?" The lilt in his voice isn't quite as shaming as the hitch in his heart as he finally turns and looks, and she's staring right back at him.

Her hand on him makes him jump a little. His heart twists, naked and raw, and he loves her. 

She knows it too, and smiles. The colors are bleeding bright and hot, and he's blind again.

Just like that.

He doesn't think about it, just kisses her mouth and touches her hair. Worshipping, always worshipping.

"Buffy-"

"I'm staying."

"If you're joking…" His throat closes before he can finish.

"Here to stay, Watcher-mine." A promise - until death, his or hers (it doesn't matter, since they're probably the same thing anyway). 

Her hands shake a little, but her eyes are bright and clear. "A slayer slays."

He swallows, not sure if he can even speak. "A watcher watches."

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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